Storymania - The Lesser Evil by Nan Deyo

The Lesser Evil
Nan Deyo

The Lesser Evil
By Nan Deyo

“You ain’t tellin’ me my babies is dead.” She was crouched on the foul and
reeking stairs, arms wrapped around her chest, primal mourning in her throat.
Detective Zurich had just looked on three small bodies, slung into an airshaft
like offal, left there until the decay choked the air. The chill of a Chicago winter that
coiled through the dank hallway was no colder than his eyes.
“That is what I’m telling you. And our investigation indicates that your
boyfriend was involved.”
She was on her feet, a feral cat, claws extended; her mouth, crimson-edged and
gaping, sprayed hate and saliva into his face. Zurich nodded slightly to the officer
standing nearby. As the young cop took her arm, she pulled away.
“You’re lyin’! Marcus wouldn’t never do nothin’ like that; he loved them
children to death!”
“So it would appear.” A sound from the end of the corridor made him glance
in that direction. Two chalk-faced coroners, followed by the medical examiner, had
ascended from the basement, laden with three black, zippered bags. The weight
bowed their shoulders; a waiting gurney received their burden. He looked away and
turned back to the mother.
“There’ll be some questions for you downtown.”
“I ain’t talkin’ no more to you, you fuckin cold-assed shit,” she hissed at the
detective.
He shrugged wearily. “I already know the answers.”
The three men were pushing the gurney toward the door. As they passed,
Zurich silently joined the cortege. The faint squeaking of the wheels, the heavy
footfalls, were the dirge.
At the end of his shift, as a weak sun rose over the city, Daniel Zurich placed
his shield and weapon on his boss’s desk and walked away. He went home to the
terminally anonymous apartment where he barely lived, stripped down to his shorts,
and slept for twelve hours. He woke up when a steel-toed boot made violent contact
with the couch.
“Wake up, asshole.”
“Brick.” Theodore Michael Brickman, called Brick both because of his
resemblance to the building material and his total hatred for his given name. He was
Zurich’s partner and only real friend. Daniel forced his aching eyes open and sat up.
“How did you get in?”
“I used the key you gave me on account of we’re such good friends. Such good
friends that you couldn’t be bothered to tell me you were quitting; had to catch the
news second-hand in the squad room. I take off one lousy day to get root canal, come
back to find out I’m gonna need a new partner.”
When Daniel didn’t speak, Brick snorted with disgust and headed for the tiny
kitchen, inadequate for any meal more ambitious than franks and beans. He slung
open one cabinet after another, finding nothing but a half-empty box of oatmeal and
some condensed soup.
“Guess coffee’s too much to expect.” He looked in the refrigerator and pulled
out two beers. He tossed one to his friend and popped the tab on his as he ponderously
lowered himself into the only chair. He sat back and scowled at Daniel, took a long
pull of his drink. Then his expression softened and he sighed.
“Okay, bud, you want to tell me what this’s all about? Was it that deal
yesterday? Heard it was a rough one, damn crackheads.”
“No. Maybe. But the way I felt when I saw those kids...I’ve been feeling that
for a long time. You remember that case we had around Christmas, Butterick, their
name was?”
“Yeah, the woman offed her rich-ass husband ‘cause he was messing with the
daughter. What about it?”
“I keep thinking about how she cried over his body, like she’d had nothing to
do with him laying there dead, and then cried just as hard over the girl and what he’d
done to her. She saved her daughter, but to do that, she had to kill the man she loved.”
“So what’s that got to do with the crackheads?” Brick’s forehead was wrinkled
and his eyes were half shut, the look he’d worn whenever Zurich got to talking
abstractions for the eight years they’d been partners .
“Those kids’ mama was pure trash; screwing her man and getting high were all
that mattered to her. But she wasn’t born like that; more than likely, she inherited it
from her mother and in time, those children would have learned it from her.”
“So, you’re saying they’re better off dead?”
‘No, I’m saying the rest of us are better off with them dead.”
“Jesus.” Brick sprang up and strode to the kitchen and back, furiously
cracking his knuckles, then he sat down so heavily the chair squeaked in protest. He
stared at Zurich like he’d never seen him before.
“Connect the dots for me, bud. What does that case have to do with the one
last year?”
“It seems to me...” Zurich paused. “Brick, you know that my dad was a cop.”
“And his dad before him. So?”
“Well, to him, a person was either a citizen, or a bum.”
“Yeah, and my old man said there were two kinds in this world, the dicks and
the ones waitin’ to get fucked. What about it?”
Zurich leaned forward. “Things were real simple for them...you were clean or
dirty, good or bad. It’s different now, so different. But people don’t know that;
they’re still hiding from the black hats and waiting for the white hats to ride in and
save them. Somebody’s got to tell them that no one’s pure and that no single choice is
the right one. Everything’s in shades of gray and it’s they who have to decide which is
closest to white.”
“That’s why you quit the job two years short of retirement, so you could spread
the word?”
“Maybe.”
“And just how are you gonna do that; hang one of them sandwich boards off
your neck and stand around O’Hare with the Krishnas? Or maybe you could start up
your own religion and tell ‘em from the pulpit. You could call it ‘First United Church
of the World’s Turned to Shit’.”
“I don’t know how, all right.” Daniel looked away for a moment, then faced
Brick squarely. “I don’t know why or how or even if I’m right. But I can’t just count
the bodies every morning and tell myself I’m doing my job. Not anymore.”
Brick looked as sad as a dispossessed bulldog. He polished off his beer, and
got up slowly. He started to speak, then just shook his head and headed for the door.
“I’m gonna miss you, buddy. Take care.” And then he was gone.
Within a month, Zurich was gone too; taking nothing but his clothes, he left
the city, heading south. As he drove, he listened to whatever radio station he could
find, turning it up for the news, nearly off when the music came back on. In motel
rooms lit only by a neon moon and the white-light of the television, he would lie on
threadbare sheets and stare sightlessly at the ceiling, his attention only drawn to the
pseudo-serious voices of grim-faced anchormen as they recited the horrors of the day
past. Then he would shake off his stupor, sit at the end of the bed, just ...

***

“...staring at the TV, sipping on the same beer for two hours.” Melissa raised
her voice over the clatter of the plates. “I’m telling you, the dude’s weird.”
Josie pushed an errant strand of hair off her sweaty forehead and stretched,
trying to ease her back. Damn, this pregnancy was going hard. Of course, forty wasn’t
twenty, as her husband sometimes reminded her. Doctor told her to stay off her feet;
that was a good one. Sitting at home sure wouldn’t pay the bills.
“Doesn’t sound much different from any other man in this town, especially
during football season,” she commented. She put the lid on the slop bucket and
carried a load over to the clanking dishwasher. Melissa pattered after her.
“That’s the thing, he’s watching CNN!”
“Now that is suspicious,” Josie remarked dryly.
“Fine, make jokes. But maybe you could go out there, just have a look at him.”
Josie sighed; she had planned to go home once the kitchen was cleaned. But
the girl seemed seriously upset and, after all, this was Josie’s Place. She wiped her
hands and headed toward the front, Melissa trailing behind.
It was slow, even for a Wednesday night. Sheriff Boniface was here, lean as a
spring coon and mean as a nesting ‘gator. Melissa’s husband, Zack, standing hip-shot
in faded Levi’s, was showing off his stuff for Tammie Conrad. Josie had gone to
school with Tammie; she’d been a pretty girl when the peach blush of youth had been
on her. Now, she looked rode hard and put up wet.
A wall was propping up Zack’s brother, Reggie, desperately small town but
trying for big city bad. The sheriff and he had spent some time playing late night
tag-you’re-it on the dirt roads outside of town. And Omar Lewiston, the Baptist
preacher; it still being a few days away from the Sabbath, he was just a few brews
short of speaking in tongues.
The regulars were all in the back, shooting pool and cussing, while the
wide-screen blasted scores and replays from the wall. The only man at the bar was
decent-looking, black hair, strong jaw, nice build. Usually the type Melissa fawned
over, even if her husband Zack was around. Josie couldn’t see the problem, but
Melissa nudged her insistently.
“Go on, talk to him; see if I’m not right.”
Josie rolled her eyes, but waddled in his direction. Sooner this was done,
sooner she could head out.
“Hey there, can I get you a fresh one? Maybe a sandwich; kitchen’s closed, but
I could scare something up, I bet.”
The kid was right, there was something a little spooky about this guy. Or
maybe just real sad. It was the blackhole eyes, took everything in, let nothing out.
And his mouth, carved so harshly, it could never have bent into a smile. He turned his
head; when he focused on her, she felt like he was reading her bones.
“No, thank you,” he answered quietly, then looked back at the television.
Josie glanced at the screen just as the newscaster, hushed and breathless,
launched into yet another segment about terrorists. She grimaced as hooded figures
flourished guns at hapless tourists. “I can change the channel, if you’d like, Mr....?”
“Zurich, Dan Zurich. You don’t find current events of interest? Murder, drugs,
politics, the very warp and woof of modern life?” The man leaned back in his chair as
he waited for her reply.
“I surely do not. Maybe if they gave us some good news, just to balance the
bad, then maybe I’d watch.”
He started to speak, but before he could, an imperious female voice broke in.
“Mom!” Josie half-turned and saw her daughter, hands on hips, glaring at her
from the kitchen door. With an apologetic shrug and a rueful smile, she moved away
as hastily as she could.
“Julie, you’re not supposed to come here.” Josie spoke sternly, but kept her
voice low.
“And you were supposed to be home an hour ago. I need some money.”
“I could use some help in the kitchen; why don’t you pitch in and I’ll give you
five for your trouble. My back’s singing Ave Maria tonight.”
“It’s not my fault that your back hurts; maybe you should of thought of that
before you let Gus knock you up.” Julie’s vicious retort was no surprise; the girl had
never liked her step-father and her mother’s pregnancy totally disgusted her. But her
venom still hurt, and Josie glanced at the stranger’s back, hoping he hadn’t heard.
“I’m not listening to this tonight, Julie. And if you’re in need of cash, I suggest
you get at those dishes before I boot your butt on home.”
Julie glared, but flounced off without another word. A moment later, the sound
of viciously cleaned tableware could be heard from the kitchen.
The pool game and the football ended simultaneously, the 2nd shift from the
plant came in, and suddenly the bar was full. Josie started drawing up beers and shots,
someone threw change in the juke and Melissa flirted with the men. Josie could see
that Zack was none too pleased; it might be Wednesday, but he was Saturday drunk
and itching to fight. She called the girl over.
“You feel like lending a hand?”
“Well, actually...” Melissa began, shuffling her feet and looking in three
different directions. “Since you’re still here and it’s not that busy...”
“You want me to close up, right? Oh, what the hell...” If Melissa left, so
would Zack and Josie’d have one less worry. “All right, take off then.” The girl was
gone in a heartbeat, dragging Zack with her. Josie worked smoothly, years of practice
in her steady hands and impersonal smile, until everyone was served. Then she went
over to check on the new guy, still sitting alone. He nodded this time when she
offered him a fresh drink.
“So, what were you about to say?” she asked as she wiped the counter. He
took a long swallow and studied her, a speculative look in his eyes.
“I was saying that maybe there is no good news to report, because goodness no
longer exists.”
“What, did God leave the building when we weren’t looking?” She wrung out
the towel and folded it neatly. Looking down the way, she saw that no one needed
anything, so she eased gingerly back onto the low counter behind her.
“I don’t know if He was ever here. But if He was, He’s lost interest, and we’re
on our own.”
“I don’t believe I’d care to entertain that notion, Mr. Zurich.” She
unconsciously folded her hands over her huge belly. “It kind of surprises me that you
would.”
“It does?”
“Well, it’s plain that you’re on the road. I don’t take you to be selling life
insurance or encyclopedias on the installment plan; you’re not nearly mouthy enough.
So I figured you to be peddling the Lord Jesus Christ and all His works.”
She believed he came that close to smiling.
“Other side of the coin, I’m afraid. I was a cop for twenty years.”
“Was?”
“I quit. It took me all those years to get it. What remains on the scales isn’t
good and bad---just greater and lesser evil.”
Josie straightened up and glanced toward the crowd at the other end of the bar.
This conversation had turned a little strange and she had no time for strange.
“Well, I’m not sure what you’re getting at, but...”
“Here’s an example for you.” Before Josie could slip away, Zurich’s hand
shot out and grasped her arm.
“Supposing a man comes in here, armed, nobody’s around, just you and your
daughter. She’s what sixteen, seventeen? And he gives you a choice; does he rape
you or her?”
Josie cut her eyes toward Tom Boniface; thought about her own Smith &
Wesson 44, not a dozen steps away.
“Don’t do it,” Zurich cautioned softly. Still holding Josie’s arm, he used his
free hand to pull aside his jacket. She saw the outline of something that even she
could tell was a most lethal weapon. “Before you could alert the sheriff or get your
hands on that hog’s leg you keep under the bar, I’d have everyone in here down and
dying. So tell me, which would it be, you or that smart-mouthed little bitch in the
kitchen?”
“Hey, Josie, how about some service?” The hoarse shout made her jump.
“Go ahead, take care of your customers. Think about it. I’ll be right over
there...” he motioned toward the unoccupied tables ”...waiting for you.” He rose and
strolled away.
“That guy a problem?” Boniface asked, casting a hard look in Zurich’s
direction. Josie hastened to assure him that everything was fine. Last thing she
needed was the ham-fisted sheriff deciding his duty lay in grilling the new arrival.
“Guess he’s got a taste for big-bellied woman. You better watch it, Josie, I’ll
be telling Gus his woman is stepping out.” Reggie giggled and belched.
Like a robot, Josie freshened drinks and put out some bowls of peanuts. She
could feel his eyes on her; when she chanced looking in his direction, he nodded
pleasantly. Her mind was racing and when she forced herself to rejoin him, she knew
what she would say.
“So, which will it be, you or her?”
“Her, it would have to be her,” she blurted.
“You’d rather see your daughter thrown to the floor, have her clothes ripped
away and her body invaded than have the same done to you?” Zurich’s tone was even,
conversational.
“I know that sounds horrible, my own child, but Julie...she’s not...I guess you
could say, she’s not exactly the Virgin Mary. Being raped would hurt her terribly,
probably for a long time, but she’d live. And I’m nearly eight months gone; a thing
like that, it could kill this baby.”
“I see. So the lesser of the two evils would be the rape of a young girl?”
“Yes,” Josie answered, her voice cracking. She couldn’t meet his eyes.
“I believe you’re catching on. Now, I have another one for you.” They could
have been exchanging anecdotes around the water cooler.
“Please, I played your game once, wasn’t that enough?” Josie pleaded.
“It’s not finished yet,” he replied firmly. “Now listen carefully, Josie. If I were
planning to kill two people tonight and had to chose between those four over there,
who should be the ones to die?” He discreetly gestured toward the sheriff, Pastor
Lewiston, Reggie, and Tammie Conrad.
It seemed like a fever had come on her; she felt the heat under her breasts and
across her face. Sweat edged her upper lip and she licked it away.
“You’ll have to think quickly; it’s getting late.”
She plodded across the room, picked up a towel and polished already shining
glasses. How could she choose who would live and who would die? He’d only talked
about the rape, but the killing, that could be more than talk. When Julie popped out of
the kitchen, Josie opened the register and threw a twenty in her direction.
“What’s with you?” the girl asked suspiciously.
“Just get going.” Josie urged her, trying not to look at Zurich.
Julie tucked the bill into her pocket, turned, then hesitated.
“Mom, you okay?”
“I’m fine; thanks for asking.” Fear made Josie’s voice rough, and her
daughter’s face regained its customary sullen look. As she wandered out the door,
Josie nearly cried with relief.
Over the next hour, the crowd thinned as most everyone but the diehards
headed home. Finally, all that was left were the five with whom Josie had started the
evening. Tammie put a few coins in the juke and, as “The Last Dance” filled the room,
she and Reggie played grab ass to the music. Pastor Lewiston stared with bloodshot
eyes and slack mouth; the sheriff curled his lip with disgust and tended to his beer.
And Josie rejoined Zurich, her legs shaking so bad that she had to lean on a chair.
“You don’t really mean to kill those folks?”
“What’s your answer, Josie?” He sounded almost kind, regretful.
“They haven’t done jack to you; what right do you have...”
“What’s your answer, Josie?” This time his voice snapped like a willow
switch, nearly loud enough to be heard over the music.
“All right!” Josie gasped as a cramp gripped her, sharp as a badger’s claws.
She drew one shuddering breath and began.
“It would have to be Sheriff Boniface and Pastor Lewiston.”
“To live or to die?”
“To die, damn you, they’re the ones should die,” she whispered harshly. “Oh, I
know what you think, why them and not the other two?”
“So tell me,” Zurich’s expression was unreadable as the face of God. He
pushed his coat aside and idly ran his hand over his gun. Josie watched him and
started talking fast.
“I know that Tammie’s no better than she needs to be, but she’s plain about it.
And if she’s leading men to perdition, at least it’s just one at a time. Omar’s more of a
whore than she’ll ever be. You see him sitting over there, half lit and horny as a
he-goat, but come Sunday, he’ll be up on that pulpit, preaching to folks that take him
for a godly man, leading them toward a heaven he’s never likely to see. And for that
he gets a three-bedroom house and a real nice paycheck.”
“And the sheriff?”
“The glare off that man’s badge has kept him blind for years. He’d bust a
crippled man with ten kids for stealing stale bread and call it ‘just doing his job’.”
“And that isn’t his job?”
“I guess it is, but sometimes you have to bend a little or it’s other people who
break. And he’s as set in his ways as rusty hinges on a barn door. Now, Reggie, he
likes to think he’s a hard case, and Lord knows he’s screwed up plenty. But I’ve seen
him go after men twice his size for raising their hand to a child, or disrespecting a
woman. He knows right from wrong and he’s young; who can say what he’ll be, once
he grows into himself.”
“So you choose the slut over the hypocrite, and the just over the law.” Zurich’s
voice was expressionless, his face, inscrutable. Josie couldn’t read either and it was
closing time. She dragged herself back to her usual post by the register and waited for
him to rise, pull out his weapon and sweep the bar with gunfire. The music ended and
one by one, her customers said their good-byes, paid up and left, all of them, no one
bleeding and dying on the floor. She walked past Zurich, locked the door and leaned
her head against its cool glass, too tired to move.
“You never meant to kill anyone, did you?”
“Maybe I did, maybe I still do. Which brings me to my last question.”
“No more! No more questions, no more answers, no more games!” She
covered her face with her hands as rancid tears burned her eyes. She heard his chair
scrape back and felt his hands gently touch her shoulders.
“Josie, Josie. I know it’s has been hard, but this will be easy for you.”
She turned and scrubbed her face with one shaking hand; studied him as deep
as one person could another. His face was as sad as graveyard rain. “Wait just a
minute, I have one for you. Why?”
“You’re a smart woman; you think on all this for a while and the reason will
come to you. Now, to that last question...should I see another day?”
She couldn’t speak.
He shrugged wearily. “I already know the answer.” He reached out to unlock
the door and she suddenly found her tongue.
“You just hold on there, mister. Don’t you be presuming to know what I’m
going to say before I say it.” Josie’s tone hit squarely between master sergeant and
mom. It nailed Zurich to the floor. She stood just as vertical as her ungainly burden
allowed and looked him straight in the eye. “Don’t need to do much thinking to have
you figured. City boy, come down here to teach the locals about the evil deeds of
man.”
She paused for a long moment, took a deep breath and went on.
“Well, your lesson plan sucks and you grade way too hard, but I’d say you got
the facts across.”
This time, Zurich’s smile was unmistakable. “Thank you, Josie.”
“Don’t be thanking me; just get yourself to the next town and the next one
after that. And don’t be getting shot or hung, at least not until you finish what you
started.”
He leaned toward her and kissed her gently on the cheek. “Goodbye.”
Josie locked the door behind him and watched until he was gone. She heard
Gus come in the back door, but she didn’t move until she felt his big warm hand
rubbing her back.
“Rough night, babe?” he asked.
“Just real long.” She rested against him for a moment. “Let’s go home.”
Copyright 2000 by Nan Deyo